


Wannabe

by ghostyouknow



Series: The Spice Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - High School, Best Friends, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gender Issues, Makeover, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostyouknow/pseuds/ghostyouknow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Misha's parents were strict and really, really traditional, and that meant that he didn't wear makeup or hang out with alphas after school, and he definitely didn't read PlayOmega at home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wannabe

Gen smoothed the lip gloss over her lips and then smacked them. She held up her handheld mirror and saw that the gloss had smeared too far above her upper lip.  
  
“Tissue.” Misha held out a Kleenex.  
  
He barely looked up from his magazine– _PlayOmega_. Gen's crazy aunt Lily had bought her a subscription. Her mother tried to pretend she didn't see it, but Gen had gotten a few lectures on how pornography objectified people and was an affront to omegaism, even when the people being photographed were alphas. Honestly, Gen didn't like the magazine. The beefcake alphas with their blown-up knots looked more scary than appealing.

But Misha's parents were strict and really, really traditional, and that meant that he couldn't wear makeup or hang out with alphas after school, and he _definitely_ didn't get to read _PlayOmega_ at home. His parents didn't even let him go to sex-ed, because one look at a knot diagram and he'd “go into heat and spread it for the whole school,” according to Misha.

Gen wasn't totally sure why he hadn't been home-schooled, like his (many and way, _way_ ) older siblings, but she was glad he wasn't. She didn't know how she'd get through _anything_ without Mish, much less high school. He was her best friend–they'd been inseparable since they'd bonded over the _Felicity_ books in the second grade. Sleepovers had been a regular thing ever since; it was the rare Friday that didn't see Misha cuddling into Gen's vast pink pillow collection and talking about everything-nothing until three a.m.  
 

She took the tissue and blotted away the runaway lip gloss. “You sure you don't want to try some? I think you'd look hot.”

“Only sluts wear red,” Misha said. He giggled when Gen slapped his leg and held up a picture of the centerfold–Mr. February. “I don't think this one's a natural blond.”

“Gross, Mish. And who are you calling a slut?” Gen put down her mirror and grabbed the tube of gloss. She bounced up the length of the bed, brandishing the gloss.

“Gen!” Misha dropped the magazine and batted at Gen's hands, but he still ended up with lip gloss streaked across his mouth, nose and chin before he managed to push her away. “Jesus, did you really have to do that?”

He sounded pissed, and Gen's stomach did a sad, sick flip-flop. She hated it when she upset Misha. She'd been doing that too often.

“Sorry.” Gen tucked her knees into her chin. She watched Misha wipe at his face with a ball of tissues. Mostly, he just streaked the tacky goop, which was _rose_ , not red, thank you very much. “You're not getting it all.”

Misha glared at her and pushed away the box of tissues. He collapsed against her pillows and stared up at the ceiling fan. “I wish I was pretty like you,” he said, finally.

Gen blinked at him. “Mish? You _are_ pretty.”

“You have to say that, or you'll lose all your friend points.” Misha forced up a smile. “Sorry, Gen. I just feel–I dunno. I wish there were another boy-omega in school, I guess. It's weird being the only one I know.”

Gen tried not to hear _because regular girl-omegas aren't good enough_. She mock-punched Misha's shoulder. “I could give you a make over? I'm a little paler than you, but it's not like you need foundation anyway. You have awesome skin.”

He really did; Gen coveted his clear complexion, and also his eyes. Misha had really nice eyes–dark and big and blue. If alphas weren't sniffing after his heels 24-7, it was only because he was shy around people he didn't know well and dressed a little weird and hadn't gone through his first heat yet. Neither had Gen, for that matter, and she kinda hoped she never would. Alona had started her first when she'd been in school, and the whole thing looked _mortifying_ , even if Gen's mom said stuff about it being beautiful and natural and 'don't worry, we can buy suppressants.'”

Misha's family didn't believe in suppressants. He'd just have to stay home and claw at the walls until his heat passed.

Misha regarded Gen with half-closed eyes, like a lazy and suspicious cat. Finally, he lifted an eyebrow. “Fine, then. Do your worst.”

Gen flashed him a quick grin and bounced off the bed toward her vanity, where she grabbed an armful of glosses and shadows and liners. When she turned back to Misha, he looked halfway to terrified.

“Uh-uh,” she said. “No backing down.”

“This isn't actually truth or dare. I can back down all I want.” But Misha sat up, closed his eyes and tilted up his chin.

Gen felt a little weird as she wet a tissue and gently wiped off the gloss.

“Is that your spit? Spit was not part of the deal.” Misha wrinkled his nose and squirmed.

Gen let out a nervous giggle. Misha's skin felt really smooth, even though she knew he moisturized with body lotion like an idiot. “Shut up.”

She chewed her lip and tried to decide what to do first. His eyes? Yeah, that worked. Gen had been practicing a smoky-eyed look, although she knew better than to try and wear that to school. She took a matte, beige shadow and applied it gently over each lid. She wiped a slightly lighter shade into the inner crease and up toward his eyebrows. Then, she took a darker shade and applied it along the lash line.

“This is taking forever,” Misha complained. “Are you making me look like a clown? I bet you're making me look like a clown.”

“I'm not! I'm blending. Blending is _key_.” Gen used a small brush to make everything smooth together. The effect was pretty, if a little more subtle than what she usually went for. Then again, Misha was a boy-omega; they wore their makeup a little differently than girls. With that it mind, she took out a dark brown eye liner and carefully moved it over the shadow.

“That doesn't feel like blending.” Misha was frowning a little.

Gen tapped the wrinkles above and between his eyes. “Knock it off, you'll get lines.”

“Heavens me! The horror!”

Gen laughed and brushed the liner into the shadow. “I'm going to put on mascara, okay? So open your eyes, look up and _hold still_ unless you want to look like a raccoon.”

Misha's eyelashes fluttered a bit as Gen put on the mascara, but he didn't move otherwise. Gen cupped his cheek to steady his face anyway. He looked a little vulnerable like this–with his staring up into hers and his mouth partly open. Gen couldn't look away. She knew he didn't get pampered, like, _ever_ –and doing this for him made her feel warm and fluttery.

She wished the alphas at school would realize how special and awesome he was, even though a part of her also hoped it would never, ever happen. If he had a boyfriend, he wouldn't be here, letting her pretty him up like they were five instead of seventeen. Gen doubted his parents would let him have a boyfriend anyway, but c'mon, this was Mish. He'd figure out how to get around them. Hell, he'd probably just tell them that he was at Gen's.

The thought _pinched_.

“Genevieve?” Misha sounded a little unsure.

Gen realized she's somehow started stroking his cheek. “Sorry, I was just trying to decide on the lips.”

She'd already played up his eyes, so she went with a nude gloss. One of her magazines said that guys hated gloss because it tasted icky, but there weren't any guys here and lipstick was for old people. On second thought, she took a little bronzer and dusted it under his cheekbones.

“Ta da!” she said. “You're done!”

Misha blinked open his eyes. He didn't look that much different. Just–his eyes looked extra blue, and there was something soft and kinda seductive about him, now. He seemed older, in a good way, even though Gen knew he'd look more mannish in a couple of years, when he grew more muscle and started to shave his face along with his pits and his legs. Still, the alphas at school would drool all over Misha if they saw him like this. Who wouldn't?

Gen kinda wanted to wash it all off.

Misha craned his head to see his reflection in Gen's vanity. He froze for a second. Then, he burst out laughing. “I look like an alpha in drag!”

He didn't, but Gen didn't get a chance to disagree. Misha curled into her, in a way that was half-playful and half-not. He butted his head against her shoulder. Gen could smell cherry-almond shampoo, which meant that he'd run out of his own and had to borrow from his mother.

“I'm a mess, huh?” Misha shivered, and Gen knew something was really eating at him. She also knew that Misha got all evasive and moody when he was upset, and there was nothing she could do except take his mind off it.

“You weren't until you smeared your face all over my shirt.” Gen scratched her fingers through his soft, soft hair. “C'mon. We still haven't done your nails.”

“No way. No nails.” But Misha's smile was a real one now, and Gen didn't mind so much when he pulled away.

###


End file.
